Page 72 of Thorn Season
Dread coiled my insides. I didn’t want him to be right, and the force of my denial loosened my tongue. “Perhaps not all rulers are like yours—locking people up like possessions, and taking them out to play when it suits them.”
He slanted his head, deliberating something. Then he said, his tone unreadable, “You’re referring to my empress’s reputation, I assume, in imprisoning the would-be heirs who might threaten her rule.”
“I hear she’s almost as vicious as King Hoyt,” I said, naming the most tyrannical ruler in Daradon’s history—the creator of the Execution Decree.
“Then you’ve been misinformed.” Keil’s grim smile took on a wry twist. “I’m fairly certain she would fillet King Hoyt and feed him to her dogs as a morning snack.”
His brows were slightly raised, as though he expected me to prodhim for more. As though he’d posed a riddle, and wanted to drip-feed me the answers just to watch me lap them up.
But his chilling statement had given me all I needed to know about the ruler he served.
So I stomped away. His footsteps followed mine a second later.
The alleys were forking off now; he could’ve branched away at any point.
“I don’t know how it works in your empire, but men who stalk women in Daradon end up with their heads on spikes.”
“What a waste of a perfectly good spike.” Keil overtook my stride and faced me, walking backward as he said, “As lovely as you are, my lady, I didn’t come here for you. I came for them.”
He turned, and I followed him into the busy street. With a start, I realized I’d circled round again to Backplace.
Keil leaned against a brick building to watch the sympathizers. I joined him, trying to see the scene from his perspective: Wholeborns clanking their staffs on the platform, voices high and condemning.
“Sympathizers don’t exist in Ansora,” said Keil, enraptured.
Unable to bear his wistful expression, I asked sourly, “Do you think even half of them truly care about Wielders?”
“They seem angry.”
“Of course they’re angry. Two centuries ago, the mayor of Henthorn tried to incite a rebellion against the Execution Decree and failed. After King Hoyt executed her for treason, he permanently forbade the appointment of a new leader here and let the city fall into disrepair. Now the citizens see the palace spires from their windows while their own roofs are leaking. They smell roses from the royal gardens while their streets are soaked with urine. Hoyt’s one act of vengeance became a generational punishment.”
Just like the Execution Decree, I added silently.
I tugged my cloak tighter around me. “These people don’t care about Wielders. They just need a place to spend their anger.”
Keil turned back to the platform in disbelief.
I huffed a bitter laugh. “You look at them and see people willing to fight for you. My perception is not distorted by such biases.”
“Do you only ever look for the worst in people?”
“I don’t usually have to look very hard.”
We remained there a while, listening to the sympathizers’ chants, the street lanterns casting a warm halo around us.
Finally, Keil sighed. “You’re biased, too. Daradon is all you know.”
“And allyouknow is the happy, golden center of your Sun Empire.”
Because apparently, Orrenish troops used the islands of the Ansoran archipelago to launch attacks on the mainland, creating a gradient of destruction—and leaving the inner districts still untouched by war.
“Hardly,” Keil said, and I raised my brows. He explained, “I did two tours around the archipelago.”
“Of duty?”
“No, of the vineyards.”
I rolled my eyes, then shifted against the bricks. “Were you drafted?”
